


Impulse Control (Or The Lack Thereof)

by fabfemmeboy



Series: Sincere Baked Goods [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabfemmeboy/pseuds/fabfemmeboy
Summary: Because texts to come over at 11 on a Friday night can only lead to one thing, right?





	Impulse Control (Or The Lack Thereof)

  
He was a badass. Everyone knew it, and the people who found him hot did so in large part because he was such a stud about it.  
  
So why was he such a social pariah after he got out of juvie? Didn't chicks dig that post-prison thing bad boys had going on?  
  
And yet Puck found himself sitting home alone on a Friday night.  Beiste hadn't cut him from the team outright but had said he was out at least a few games for the practices he'd missed.  It was 11 already so the game was over, but Santana wasn't even bothering to respond to his sexts even though he knew she had to be horny as hell and wanting him by now.  No one else on the team would talk to him.  He even tried texting Brittany.  
  
Finally he resigned himself to doing what he feared was really pathetic.  He scrolled through his contacts until he found a number he'd never used, then sent  _u wnna cum over?_  
  
Kurt stared at the screen when the text arrived, and two thoughts went through his head.  First, since when did Puck text him?  And second, had Puck's use of the slang homonym been intentional, ignorant, or an attempt at being cute and kind of a smartass?  
  
Knowing Puck, almost certainly the third one.  
  
He debated saying no.  He knew there was no way this could end well - either he would go over there, they would do something, and Puck would promptly return to being head asshole in chief at school...or he would go over there and they wouldn't do anything, and he would feel like a moron for assuming something might in the first place.    
  
When he didn't respond right away, a second text came from the same number.   _i said id duet with u, gotta pick a song._  
  
That settled it.  He stopped the dvd on his laptop, rolled off his bed, and pulled his clothes from the day back on.  He was just glad he hadn't already done his nightly moisturizing routine because there was no way anyone would see him after that.  After checking the mirror, he changed his sweater into one that looked a little less...bulky on him, figuring it couldn't hurt to look his best.  A quick fix of his hair, then he hesitated.    
  
Condoms.  Was taking them with him assuming too much?  
  
Well... _not_  taking them was taking too big of a risk, he knew that.  Judging by Puck's reaction last time, he didn't keep them around, and he knew that if they both got worked up there was a chance he would lose his head and not realize how much they needed to stop until afterward, when he found himself wondering why he had such a burning sensation.  Deciding to throw propriety to the wind, he pulled open his vanity drawer, plucked a handful of packets from the basket, and tucked them as neatly as he could into his pocket.  It created a bit of a bulge, like he had put a phone in there or something, but it was either that or nothing at all.  He assumed Puck would have lube there, if only for personal use.  
  
Taking condoms was good, common sense.  Taking a bottle of lube - especially one as big as the one that sat in Kurt's nightstand - just seemed presumptuous.  
  
...On second thought.  He pulled them out of his pocket and tossed them onto the bed, then changed his pants.  While the dark plaid was one of his favourites...he pawed through his laundry bin before he landed on the trousers he'd worn to play Riff Raff.  
  
What? He was getting a text at 11 at night to go hang out with a guy he'd screwed around with before.  The least he could do was wear pants that accentuated...let's just say everything.  Not that the thought made him blush or feel ridiculous or anything.    
  
Besides.  Touching, pursuing, flirting, all of those could be taken as him coming on too strong.  But if anything, the guys who knew him had become practically immune to his odd and occasionally-inappropriate clothes.  If Puck happened to like what he saw and wanted to initiate something, that was no longer in Kurt's hands.  
  
Condoms tucked into the pocket of his new jeans, he laced up his boots and went upstairs, car keys in hand.  His dad was asleep in front of the tv, which was one of those things Kurt thought seemed normal but had gotten to be such a hallmark of his father's recovery that he wasn't sure anymore.  He drew a blanket over his father's shoulders, then scrawled a note:  
  
 _Gone to hang out with Mercedes.  May stay the night. Call me if you need anything._  
  
While he had a curfew, Mercedes' house had always been an exception, but he knew his father wouldn't call - assuming he even woke up before Kurt got back.  In all likelihood, he would sit around Puck's awkwardly for a couple hours and be back home by 1:00 anyway.  Even so, he back-dated the note so it didn't look like he was going out at 11:08; 9:30 was a more respectable time and well after his father had dozed off.  Perfect.  
  
He wasn't sure why he knew where Puck lived - maybe he'd given Finn a ride over there once? Picked both of them up from Sheets n Things and dropped Puck off?  In any event, it didn't take him long to get over there; it took him far longer to get up the nerve to go knock on the door.  
  
Puck answered the door in a white v-neck tshirt and loose jeans, and the first thing Kurt noticed was that the mohawk was back.  He wasn't sure how he felt about that - sure, most people at school found it hot, but he would always associate it with Puck the bully instead of Puck the decent guy who did shitty things sometimes.  The second thing he noticed was an earring-  
  
On second examination, two earrings.  Plugs, actually.  Not really his thing.  He'd thought for a split second he'd seen just a right-side stud, which would have amused and confused him, but this was more of an "I'm trying to be a punk" thing that he wasn't really into.  
  
"Hey," Puck said casually, like it was totally normal for Kurt to come over at almost midnight on a Friday.  
  
"Hello," Kurt replied.  He sounded much more uptight, and it annoyed him.  He couldn't help it - his stomach was doing the same kind of nervous flutter he used to get from singing with Finn, only much more intense and with a much closer connection to his groin.  Uptight was the only way to keep himself in check.  
  
Puck stepped back to let Kurt in.  The lights were off except a faint almost nightlight-ish glow from the kitchen.  He led Kurt upstairs to his room, and it didn't take Kurt long to figure out why he was there.  
  
The house was silent.  Empty, he suspected.  
  
"No one else around?" Kurt asked casually.  
  
Puck shrugged.  "Sarah's asleep downstairs.  She got used to having noise when she slept when she was staying with our cousins, so I let her fall asleep in front of the tv."  
  
"It was off," Kurt pointed out.  
  
"Not like she knew the difference," Puck replied.  
  
"We won't bother her with singing?"   
  
"Nah.  She sleeps like a log once she's there."  
  
There was something less...Puck-ish about Puck when he talked about his little sister, and while Kurt was decidedly not a kid person, he found himself liking Puck around kids.  He wasn't falling all over himself to be sweet or anything, just kind of...mellow.  Like all the stuff about his reputation, his hard edge, didn't really matter.  He wasn't soft, but he acted almost like a normal person.  
  
That Puck, Kurt decided, he could like with or without the mohawk.  
  
Puck's room was about like he expected - cluttered, like his mom told him to clean it way too often and he just kinda shoved things in the direction of the walls, with clothes strewn around wherever.  There were some band posters on the wall, a couple movies Kurt didn't really know.  What was important was next to the bed - three stringed instruments on stands (acoustic guitar, electric, and an electric bass), an iPod clock radio, lube (not cheap stuff, either), a nipple barbell, and a picture of a baby in a pink blanket.  
  
Well, if that didn't sum up Puck...  
  
Puck shoved some school stuff off the desk chair and sat on the bed, grabbing the acoustic guitar easily.  "So what do you think?" Kurt asked awkwardly as he crossed his legs.  
  
"Well, you know the rules."  
  
"No showtunes, it must be by a Jewish artist," Kurt confirmed.  "So I've come up with who I believe will be the perfect choice."  He paused dramatically and was slightly let-down when Puck just raised an eyebrow.  "Madonna."  
  
Puck stared at him.  "You're joking, right?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"She's not Jewish."  
  
"Sure she is.  With the red-"  
  
"Kabballah's different."  
  
"It's Jewish...ish."  
  
"Her name's freaking Madonna.  She about as Jewish as Santana is a lesbian."  
  
"So that makes Madonna half-Jewish?" Kurt replied.  
  
Puck snorted.  "She's fucked every guy in our school - except you, I'm guessing.  Brittany's just her bait."  
  
"Bait?" Kurt repeated.  
  
"They make out, it's hot, guys make out with them."  
  
Kurt shook his head.  "They're the only one that's real," he stated with absolute certainty.  "She'll screw you every chance she gets, but she won't be seen with you.  Brittany makes out with every guy she sees and is the second biggest reason I no longer wear flannel, but everyone knows that doesn't mean anything.  The way Santana protects Brittany, the way they start looking lost if they're more than two feet from each other?"  He shrugged.  "So what if she grinds you like a belt sander whenever you're in the same room?  She and Brittany may have a strange relationship, I'll give you that much, but it's more than I'll ever have in this town."  
  
He wasn't saying it to get affirmation of anything - he wasn't trying to back Puck into saying something about how much he'd missed him or how he wanted to be seen in public with him...but the look on Puck's face told him maybe he hadn't made clear that the statement was not fishing.  "I just mean...why shouldn't they have someone?" he added awkwardly.    
  
Puck knew that look - not from first-hand experience, but from watching Rachel with Finn and her stupid fairytale romance crap about true love and whatever.  It was the 'please tell me you need me and can't live without me' look.  And it was bullshit.    
  
"No Madonna," he said conclusively.    
  
"Barbra Streisand?"  
  
"Who do you think I am? Rachel or something?"  
  
Yeah, Kurt had figured that one would go over like a lead balloon.  He wondered if he could read something into the fact that Puck hadn't called it 'gay', since he'd never hesitated to use that as an all-purpose insult before and in this case it would be kind of appropriate.  He realized Puck had stopped saying it - at least around him - for the most part when he joined glee club.  
  
He wanted to take that as a positive sign, but it occurred to him that if he was seriously happier about the words Puck used (or didn't) than about the fact that he was no longer starting every morning fishing himself out of old trays of tuna casserole, he might be grasping at straws.  God knows he'd done the same thing during his ridiculous crush on Finn, and he wasn't about to make that mistake again.  
  
"Fine, then.  What do you suggest?" Kurt asked.  He moved to sit on the floor with his back stiff and upright against the chair leg, flicking on his phone's web browser and starting to google Jewish musicians.  
  
"Counting Crows."  
  
Kurt blinked.  "Who?"  
  
"You know- "  He started to sing "Mr. Jones a-a-nd me..."  When Kurt continued to give him a blank look, Puck slumped down on the bed a little.  "Mamas and the Papas?"  
  
"And that makes me Mama Cass? I don't think so," Kurt stated flatly, then asked, "Which song?"  
  
"I dunno - California Dreaming?"  
  
"Like either of us is going to sing the entire second verse about going to church to pray," Kurt replied.  "Eydie Gorme?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"American chanteuse, she sang some gorgeous pop-y blues-y songs, probably best known for 'Blame it on the Bossa Nova'-"  
  
"The bossa-what?"  
  
Kurt sang the title line and huffed only a little when Puck remained skeptical.  "Anyway.  She and her husband started singing duets under the name Parker and Penny, which..."  He pulled up 'This Could Be the Start of Something' on YouTube.  
  
Puck lasted all of half a verse.  "No."  
  
"It's not that different from Lady is a Tramp," Kurt pointed out.   
  
"Yes it is.  That was cool.  Sammy Davis Jr. is cool.  This is just lame.  Besides - that was to get a date.  You can get away with less cool when you're picking up a chick in the process."  
  
Kurt thought that sounded backwards, but mostly it just dashed his hopes for the evening.  First of all, talking about how to score chicks was never exactly a turn-on for obvious reasons.  Second, talking about how Puck didn't have to be as cool when there was a girl involved, but this needed to be cool, kind of cemented the fact that it wasn't going to be good for Puck's reputation to duet with him.    
  
"Jonathan Larson was born to Jewish parents," Kurt offered.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The guy who wrote 'Rent.'"  
  
"Showtune."  
  
"No - rock opera.  There's a difference."  
  
"Not enough of a difference."  
  
"But the character's a rockstar.  He plays guitar.  And it's a duet that works for our respective ranges without being a love song."  
  
"Show. tune," Puck repeated.  
  
"Fine.  Your idea."  
  
"Van Halen."  When Kurt gave him a blank look, Puck added, "Anything during the David Lee Roth years counts."    
  
"Who?"  
  
"C'mon, they did..." Puck could name their songs backwards and forwards, they were a favourite of his dad's, but he tried to think of which ones Kurt might know.  "Hot for Teacher?"  When he still got a blank - thought slightly more disgusted - look, he said, "They did Jump."  
  
"So did we," Kurt replied dryly.  "Next?"  
  
"Beck?"  
  
Kurt sighed deeply and sat up.  "This isn't going to work."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Let's face it, Puck.  I'm broadway, you're rock.  Gays and Jews may go well together musically, but we don't.  We have no musical chemistry."  
  
Of all the things Kurt was expecting to happen just then, Puck leaning down to kiss him so hard it made him dizzy wasn't even on the list.  
  
He pulled back slowly with a smirk that only Puck could wear without looking ridiculous.  "No chemistry my ass," he said with a cockiness that exceeded even Santana's.  When Kurt just stared up at him, fingertips touching his own lips, Puck looked even more proud of himself for leaving him speechless.  
  
Kurt had convinced himself this wasn't going to happen.  Puck hadn't somehow gone into juvie a straight sex stud and come out...someone who needed to come out.  He had told himself early in the night, when going up to Puck's bedroom wasn't followed shortly thereafter by removal of all clothes, that it really had been a one-time thing and the condoms in his pocket wouldn't be needed tonight.  He had reminded himself a couple times that staring wouldn't lead to any good and might - under the wrong circumstances - lead to a Finn-like freak-out, only worse because Puck was  _Puck_.    
  
But with the kiss that he swore made his mind actually feel numb, and the smirk of defiance, and the pride Puck seemed to take in all of it...  
  
"You're sure about this?" Kurt asked breathlessly.  
  
Puck shrugged.  "Why not?"  
  
"You're not gay."  
  
"So? If it feels good, do it.  And hot is hot.  Just don't start crying this time."  
  
Kurt practically dove at him and ended up on top of him on the bed while their legs dangled over the side.  While he kicked himself a little for quite literally throwing himself at a boy he wasn't even sure he actually liked, he couldn't help himself.  He was lonely - desperately, achingly lonely - and the past month had been like a litany of reminders of how disgusting he was.  How threatening his existence was. How he was never going to have the same things or be considered as good as any of the other kids at school.  There were exactly two guys who didn't make him feel that way - Puck and Sam - and even Sam's acceptance was waning slightly.  But Puck...  
  
He wasn't gentle or tender or any of those things Kurt always thought he wanted.  He was still kind of a jerk and the sarcasm and snark that rivaled his own could get on his damn nerves.  But the way Puck touched him-...like he was halfway non-gross, maybe even kind of vaguely attractive?  Kurt needed it.   _Craved_  it.   Felt like without it he might go completely crazy at the thought of being completely alone and shunned for the next three years.  
  
He still felt like he had no idea what he was doing, but Puck didn't seem to be complaining and he doubted Puck would let him keep going with something that wasn't working.  Mohawked or clean-buzzed, he was nothing if not blunt and honest.  No, reaching down to cup the crotch of Puck's jeans, Kurt could tell he wasn't doing half bad.    
  
Puck wasn't as big an idiot as people tended to think.  Kurt may not have been pleading for affirmation the way Quinn had, but everything about him screamed it.  If Puck were anyone else, he would have done something really gay like stop and ask what was wrong and how he could help and if Kurt wanted to talk about it or shit, but that wasn't him and never would be.  If someone wanted that, they should look elsewhere...and Kurt didn't seem to want that anyway.    
  
No, judging by the way Kurt was trying to force his hand into Puck's still-closed jeans because he couldn't get the button undone easily enough, Kurt wanted to do anything but talk about it.  
  
Puck reached down, fingertips skimming against Kurt's wrist, as he flicked open the button and slid down the zipper.  Kurt slid awkwardly to his knees on the floor and fished Puck's dick out of the jeans as Puck propped himself up on his elbows to watch.  
  
Since he'd had Puck's dick in his mouth for just a few seconds on their previous encounter, Kurt had been thinking about it.  The width, the weight...he wondered what the pulsing sensation he could feel against his palm would feel like on his tongue.  He wondered what it tasted like, even though he knew that wasn't a good idea with the amount the guy got around.  For the past month it had become his go-to jerk-off fantasy - sucking him off, Puck's fingers tugging on his perfectly-coiffed hair like he couldn't get enough.  Now that he was here...  
  
...he realized he didn't really have any practice or experience at this, either.  
  
Sure, he'd tried to practice on cucumbers and bananas like any other horny gay teenager, but none of them were quite the same width or shape, and if he made a fool of himself-...let's just say he was absolutely certain Puck had gotten fantastic blowjobs from any number of women in town, including Santana.  
  
"Sup?" Puck asked, glancing down at him.  
  
Kurt drew in a deep breath, unwilling to admit his nervousness unless absolutely forced.  He snagged a condom from his pocket and unrolled it, double-checking that he'd done so correctly - he didn't have much experience at that, either, but at least there were pamphlets for that.  He gently gripped the base of the shaft in his right hand to steady it, then closed his eyes and lowered his mouth slowly.  
  
Somehow it felt wider in his mouth than it had in his ass, and he wasn't quite sure why.  He knew enough to keep his teeth out of the way - damn would that hurt! - and he knew breathing through his nose was key to the whole thing, but beyond that he was kind of...lost.  Everything he'd seen in porn seemed impossible to do with a full mouth, and who could see 90% of what they did for blowjobs anyway?  
  
Not like Puck would be much help here.  He was used to getting blowjobs, he wouldn't have the first clue how to give one - his bragging the other night aside.  
  
Deciding that maybe the only thing to do was just kind of go for it, he lowered his mouth as far as he could before he felt like he might start gagging.  
  
"Chin up," he heard groaned above him, then Puck's rough hand guided his head to a different angle. Curiously, Kurt tried again, doing as Puck said, and got a little further before it felt like he would choke.  His eyes were burning, but Puck mumbled something about holding still and it'd help, and he did.  He pulled back slightly and took in another inch.  He still wasn't to the base, and he didn't think there was any way in hell he'd make it there, but this felt so...  
  
...so fucking  _hot_  
  
The weight of a dick on his tongue, the way his lips felt simultaneously stretched and pursed...he felt like he was living in a porn movie or something.  Like he was in one of his fantasies, and that more than made up for the physical discomfort of it.  He slowly, with a great deal of nervousness, began to bob his head up and down.  It got a nice enough reaction from Puck - plenty of quiet groaning, all very appreciative - but was nothing compared to the reaction he got when he pulled almost all the way back and began to tongue the head.  
  
At the first clench of Puck's fingers in his short hair, Kurt swore he would start to risk permanent damage if he didn't get out of his excessively-tight jeans soon.  His lips closed tightly near the top of the shaft, he moaned.  The "Yeah, like that," it elicited from Puck certainly helped with the living-in-porn feel of it all, and just when Kurt thought the feeling started to border on skeevy, Puck groaned some instructions about how Kurt should be using his hands.  
  
He knew the tutorial was more for Puck's benefit than his own - obviously, given whose dick was being sucked - but it still felt...almost sweet?  Less like Puck was just going to start fucking his throat any second (though if he could at some point figure out how not to choke, that might be hot)?  Like so many things involving Puck, he had no idea  _why_ he liked it, he just knew that he did.  
  
What Puck figured out quickly was that Kurt was an  _observant_  fucker.  Noticed everything that got a reaction and figured out how to improve on it with just a little coaching.  The guy could certainly take direction and was eager to please - with more practice he'd give one helluva blowjob.  He'd learned from the cougars that practice helped but wasn't everything; the enthusiasm of a few of the Cheerios was almost good enough to win out over experience.  If a person had both? Holy shit.  
  
But what got him most was the vibration.  He'd had girls moaning and groaning and whimpering around his cock before, but usually in that fake way - hey, it went with the fake hair and nails, right?  Like a slutty nurse in one of those stupid pre-internet pornos with plot and crap.  With Kurt it was organic, genuine moaning - especially if the exaggerated tenting of his already-tight pants was any indication - that sent all kinds of great vibrations down his dick.  
  
The guy was seriously getting off on sucking him.  Maybe there were advantages to this whole gay thing.  
  
He kind of wished Kurt weren't so OCD about the condoms for stuff like this - he bet the guy would swallow.  He always had a thing for girls who would, but there weren't that many around - the Cheerios thought it was gross, the cougars thought they had better things to do.  One even said "Oh, baby, I'm not 25 anymore" - but almost no one he screwed under 25 would, either.  
  
With Kurt's mouth maybe halfway down his dick and picturing how hot the guy would look with cum dribbling from the corners of those pink lips, he came with a loud groan that more than drowned out Kurt's muffled moans.  
  
Kurt pulled back slowly, working his jaw to try to loosen it again, and Puck grinned.  "Not bad for an amateur," he praised as he removed the condom, tied it off, and tossed it in the direction of his trash can - perfect aim.  He was well-practiced enough at that kind of thing.  
  
Kurt stood and an involuntary whimper left his lips.  He quickly reached down to unfasten his pants and pull out his hard, leaking,  _aching_  dick.  Puck almost had to laugh at the image it created - Kurt, perfectly-put-together Hummel with his fruity sweater and weird scarf and tight pants...and his erection out.  Like if you just glanced at him you'd miss the exposure.  Instead he just reached out and wrapped his fingers around the thick shaft.  Kurt's eyes fluttered shut.  "Get undressed."  When Kurt tried to pull back to do as instructed, Puck smirked and added, "Stay right here.  Now get undressed." He began to slowly pump Kurt's dick as if to emphasize his point.  Kurt's eyes got wide and his mouth opened slightly as he sounded like he was having a hard time breathing and concentrating all at once.  With trembling fingers he began to unfasten his sweater and let it drop off his shoulders onto the floor.    
  
Puck wasn't sure why he found the wide-eyed innocence thing hot.  Maybe because it felt like the guy was so restrained the rest of the time but was so turned-on by him he couldn't help himself.  In any event, watching as Kurt clumsily pulled his tshirt over his head then tried to figure out how to remove his pants without moving his hips was getting him hard again.  Not much at first, but the kind of pre-erection twitches in his groin he knew would lead to something pretty soon.  "Just don't cum yet," he commanded.  Kurt swallowed hard and nodded, eyes still wide as saucers.  He reached over to grab the lube from the nightstand and poured some into his palm - he smirked as he heard Kurt's faint moan of protest when flesh contact ended, however briefly - then began stroking a little faster.   
  
Kurt's eyes screwed shut and, as his breathing got faster, he leaned forward and rested his hand on Puck's shoulder to hold himself up.  Puck leaned forward in his seated position on the bed to flick the flat of his tongue against Kurt's nipple; the sharp, sudden inhale let him know he'd found a thus-far untapped potential for foreplay...if he ever did that.  Most of the time he didn't, really.  
  
Kurt reached down to grip the base of his dick and whispered "Stop," and that was when Puck really started getting hard again.  So he got off on getting someone off - so what? Could he help it if he thought it was hot when someone was that turned on by him?    
  
He moved his hand away and shoved Kurt's pants down over his hips with some difficulty.  The guy needed to buy bigger jeans, that's all there was to it.  He was used to working with Cheerios skirts and desperate older women who practically threw their panties at him; this whole peeling stiff pants down legs thing was not going to work for him.  
  
Satisfied he wasn't going to spontaneously erupt, Kurt released his grip on both his dick and Puck's shoulder and pulled his pants the rest of the way down.  He toed out of them and didn't come nearly as close to falling over as he thought he would - a small victory.  After a moment's hesitation, he shoved down his underwear, too.  
  
Wait.  Was Puck checking out his ass?  
  
No, Kurt concluded.  Puck would consider that unforgivably gay.  It was just that he'd kind of shoved it in Puck's face unintentionally - the guy had no choice but to look without conspicuously looking another direction and thereby appearing rude.  
  
But if that was the case, then why was Puck grabbing his ass without prompting or anything?  
  
He turned around quickly in surprise and Puck just raised an eyebrow.  He wanted to ask what Puck was doing but thought that might be just plain awkward, so he didn't say anything.  Then Puck stood and kissed him and he didn't really know what to say anyway.  
  
The kisses were rough in a way that made him feel hot instead of manhandled, almost like Puck wanted him too much to resist even though he knew for certain that wasn't true.  It didn't escape his notice that, while Puck's left hand stayed tightly on his hip, the right one kept moving down between his buttcheeks.  He wrapped his arms around Puck's back and held on tightly - with the kisses and not really enough oxygen he was certain he'd do something embarrassing like fall.  That would be his luck.  
  
As Puck's finger pressed in, he was grateful there was still a little lube on his hands - a little rough could be good, but there were limits where his ass was concerned.  He groaned and pressed back, which made Puck smirk.    
  
Two could play that game.  
  
Kurt bent his neck forward and flicked the nipple ring with his tongue.  Puck drew in a quick breath and let out a soft grunt of pleasure  Kurt grinned and repeated the motion - he was starting to get the hang of this, feel like he kind of knew what he was doing a little.  At the very least, he felt a little less ridiculous initiating rather than just reacting.    
  
Puck pressed in a second finger and Kurt gasped out "Lube!"  "Sorry," Puck said as he pulled his hand away.  It wasn't some kind of soppy sympathetic apology, but it was at least genuine.  Kurt wasn't sure what he was expecting or why he seemed to be putting so much into the idea that Puck cared if he'd hurt him, however accidentally, but all thoughts were pushed away when two slick fingers slid into him.  He moaned and his grip on Puck's shoulders tightened.  
  
Very, very reluctantly, Puck stepped back and reached down to try to fish the condoms out of Kurt's pocket.   If the guy was going to insist or whatever, it wasn't worth putting up a fight over it.  The look Kurt gave him made him almost want to pick a fight because it was a little too 'you did it without me asking, you must love me' for his comfort, but sex was way more important than bitching over a look.    
  
He considered position as he rolled the condom on carefully.  As much as he like the idea of bending Kurt over the desk and taking him, from behind hadn't worked too well the last time because he couldn't tell if Kurt needed him to stop.  Besides, while their height difference wasn't ridiculous or anything, it was probably enough that his knees and thigh muscles would be paying for it the next day.  He wouldn't mind fucking forward, but the part where he hadn't been able to find his target was an ego-blow and he would rather not repeat that.  The riding thing had worked well, but he had kind of a thing against the same position twice in a row if he got his say.    
  
Finally he laid down on the bed on his left side.  When Kurt watched him but didn't move, Puck offered a low "Get over here."  Kurt started to face him, but Puck quirked an eyebrow and nudged his hips and Kurt figured out where he was meant to be.  
  
As Kurt's back settled against his chest, he realized the breathing he could feel was kind of...quivery? Almost nervous?  He wondered why - wasn't like it was his first time or anything.  Maybe it had hurt more than he thought last time; that would seriously suck.  But, he reasoned, if he could tell that much about Kurt's breathing from here, he could probably tell if he needed to stop even if Kurt froze up and couldn't say anything, right?  
  
He leaned down to nip lightly at Kurt's earlobe and whispered, "Relax."  
  
"Easy for you to say," Kurt whispered back, but he tried.  Not relaxing would make things more difficult, he knew that, but there was still an element of control he'd liked about the other position.  While he trusted Puck more than he ever would've expected to, there was still a part of him that worried-  
  
Puck grasped his hip to hold him steady as he positioned himself and carefully pushed upwards in the most even motion he could.  When Kurt squeaked out a noise he couldn't readily identify as pained or pleasured, he stopped, but the whispered, "Keep going," that followed was a more-than-welcome request.  The fact that it was just as tight around his dick as the last time surprised him - he was used to a lot of the cougars who wanted him to talk about how tight they were when they'd had like three kids or something, and Santana had always been loose in multiple senses of the word.  But this... _this_  felt damn good.  
  
Kurt adjusted himself slightly to change the angle, which brought his back to rest more firmly against Puck's chest.  The skin-on-skin contact made him shiver, even though Puck was most definitely not cold and almost seemed to radiate heat.  When began to roll his hips forward, Kurt found the real advantage of this position.  Because while the body contact aspect was nice, and he was more turned-on than he expected by the soft huff of Puck's warm breath against his neck, what really made it good was the incredible sensation he kept getting.  Prostate? He thought so - he'd read, at least, not that he'd had anything to really experiment with since the nearest sex store was almost two hours out of town and the internet wasn't an option because his dad still got the statements.  He reached back, desperately feeling like he needed to grip onto something, and his hand came to rest on Puck's muscular thigh.  
  
Then Puck reached around to jerk him off in roughly the same rhythm and Kurt swore he'd died and gone to heaven - which, if it felt like this, would totally be worth it.  
  
He came in an embarrassingly short period of time with a moan that was a lot longer than he intended it to be, and he worried for a minute if he'd woken Puck's sister downstairs, but Puck didn't seem concerned.  Puck waited a few seconds - and judging from the strained, tightly-controlled breathing against Kurt's neck, it wasn't easy to pause - before resuming his thrusts.  It felt too good, right on that border between fantastic and oh-god-too-much, to the point where, by the time Puck's hips stilled and he groaned with this primal kind of growl thing, Kurt swore he would be turned on if it didn't feel like his entire body was vibrating and kind of on fire.  
  
Puck reached down between them to grasp the condom as he pulled out carefully, and Kurt slowly moved off the bed.  His legs were quivering just a little, but in a good way, and he was just sweaty enough to feel like he should probably shower but not enough to feel completely disgusting.    
  
But then came his dilemma.  
  
"Should I...I should probably go, right?" Kurt asked when he caught his breath.  
  
Puck kind of rolled his eyes as he sat up to throw away the condom; this one missed the trash can.  Sure enough - come over here, dress like that, be totally into it, then get pissed for wanting what he wanted.  He'd thought maybe the first night could be chalked up to all the shit Kurt had been under at the time, with his dad and whatever, but twice in a row like this...Kurt really was like the girls.  He thought maybe since Kurt was a guy he'd get the whole "it's good, go with it" philosophy, but apparently not.  "Whatever," he replied.  
  
What? He wasn't gonna beg like some little punk.  Kurt wanted to stay, he could.  He wanted to go, that was his business.  Whatever.  
  
Kurt hesitated.  He had expected a swift kick to the curb, but he wasn't sure what to do with Puck's ambivalence.  He didn't particularly want to leave.  He - and he couldn't believe he was even thinking it - actually kind of enjoyed Puck's company.  But if he stayed without some expression of desire that he do so, was he being presumptuous? Was he coming on too strong and trying to read in signs when they weren't there?  Every time he thought he saw something positive, he had to ask himself if he was imagining the whole thing.  After all, with Finn he had managed to convince himself that Finn wasn't just a good guy, but actually genuinely liked him.  
  
Puck laid back on the bed, one arm under his head, the other splayed out to the side.  Kurt drew in a deep breath and, fully expecting to get shoved out of bed and called one of any number of choice slurs, laid his head on Puck's shoulder and let his legs kind of dangle over the edge of the bed.  Puck kind of quirked an eyebrow but didn't tell him to go the fuck away.  
  
Take that, Finn Hudson.  
  
It bordered almost on cuddling, a little too close for Puck's tastes, but it didn't entirely suck.  As long as the guy didn't roll over and start trying to hug him and fall asleep or something - that would be too gay.  A lot gayer than anything else they'd done.  
  
They were silent for a long time.  Neither of them had really done this before, and it felt...awkward.  Too close and distant at the same time.  "Get up," Puck mumbled.  Kurt was off the bed and starting to gather his clothes in one swift movement.  "...I'm just turning on some music, dude.  Relax."  
  
Kurt tried not to blush or look as stupid as he felt.  "Of course," he replied tightly.    
  
Puck reached over to fumble with the iPod on the nightstand and pressed play before laying back on the bed - but a little further over this time so Kurt could actually fit.  When Kurt kept standing there in the middle of the room, naked and looking really freaking lame, Puck said, "You can lay back down, you know."  It took everything in Kurt not to scramble onto the bed.  He tried to look a little more restrained as he laid down in the same pose he'd held before with his legs dangling off the side.  "There's room or whatever," Puck stated, and Kurt hesitantly shifted into a more normal, more comfortable position.  
  
The music helped fill a little bit of the emptiness, bridge their uncertain awkwardness just enough to relax.  As a Bob Dylan song Kurt knew he knew but couldn't place ended and "Movin' Out" by Billy Joel began, he commented, "Eclectic.  Shuffle?"  
  
"I call it 'Jewish guys with guitars'," Puck replied.  When Kurt kind of smirked, he explained, "What? Stuff I can play along to.  I've got glee stuff on here, too, just a different playlist."  
  
He tended to forget that Puck did actually take music seriously.  Usually Puck was so busy putting up the 'I'm tougher than you' front that no one could really see it.  
  
...Not like he was any different, Kurt realized suddenly.  
  
Not when it came to music - everyone knew that was important to him.  They all knew how much he valued his voice.  But when it came to things like Cheerios, or most of school, or pretty much anything that didn't involve singing or fashion, people assumed he didn't care nearly as much as he did...because he made them think that.  His air of superiority was something he had carefully cultivated over almost a decade of torture in the public school system.    
  
It wasn't so much that bullies left you alone if they thought you didn't care, but they didn't take quite as much delight in pummeling you.  If they knew what they were doing hurt, if they knew what they said made you want to curl up and die, they kept at it.  If you could pretend you didn't care, it had about the same effect as a mouse playing dead - they would bat you around for a little bit, then get bored and wander away to throw someone else into a locker instead.  
  
Puck's more-awesome-than-you attitude had only gotten worse since May, too, Kurt realized.  And it wasn't entirely surprising when he thought about it - he'd seen how much Beth's adoption effected Quinn, it would stand to reason that Puck would also be kind of a mess afterwards, just without so many hormones to blame.    
  
Somehow realizing that they survived school - life, really - the same way made Kurt feel a little less awkward.  It made things a lot less mysterious in the best possible way.  Maybe he could actually figure out where things stood with Puck a little better this way.  
  
"You do know this is a showtune now, right?" Kurt asked in a just-barely-teasing tone.  
  
"It's shit," Puck replied.  "All the jukebox musicals - you take a good song, a kickass rocker song, and you get some lame dancer to sing it instead?  I wouldn't try to sing that diva-off song, you shouldn't sing Billy Joel.  Or Queen."  
  
"Mama Mia isn't bad."  
  
"ABBA wasn't good to begin with."  
  
"It's not that different from what we do," Kurt pointed out.  "There isn't that much musical distance between Queen and Journey - performance-wise, obviously, but in terms of vocals.  So why is glee cool but those musicals are shit?"  
  
Puck didn't answer.  As the song changed again, he only had to hear the opening plucky riff before he declared, "This is the song."  
  
"What song?"  
  
"Our duet.  You know it, right?  I mean it's not really gay or anything, but it's a duet with two guys...and everyone knows this song."  
  
It took Kurt until partway through the first verse to confirm that, indeed, he did know it - kind of, thanks to his mother.  "Not what I'd expect from you, I have to admit."  
  
"You assumed Mrs. Robinson?"   
  
"You don't object to the whole prophets thing?" he asked skeptically.  
  
"It's about how ridiculous that stuff is," Puck replied.  "It's talking about how people just buy into whatever someone tells them just 'cause the guy says he knows what he's talking about." He slid his arm out from under Kurt's head and sat up, reaching ov.  They er to grab them guitar and start plucking out the chords.  
  
Puck had to smirk as he noticed Kurt watching him intently.  There hadn't been much to do in juvie except hang out in the weight room, so he knew he looked good.  Chicks dug the naked guitar-playing and it made sense that Kurt would, too.  "You got the melody? It's the higher part."  
  
"Sure," Kurt replied as he pulled up the lyrics on his phone.    
  
For the next couple hours they worked on the song.  It was more sedate than Kurt would have expected from Puck and less dramatic than Puck would have expected from Kurt, but it sounded okay.  More importantly it suited them well, all things considered.  
  
As the black outside Puck's window gave way to fainter blue, he looked at the clock and said, "My mom'll be home soon."  
  
Kurt didn't have to ask if that meant he should go.  "Okay," he said.  He had put on his jeans when he had to go down the hall to the bathroom sometime around 3:30, so he picked up his sweater from where it had rested on the floor all night and shrugged into it.  "This was nice," he added awkwardly.  He braced himself for Puck's snarky response, but it never came.  He wanted to lean in and kiss Puck again before he left but decided ultimately that would be a little too much like they were dating.  Instead he just smiled and gave a lame little wave before going downstairs and letting himself out.  
  
It occurred to him that Puck had never once told him not to tell anyone.  Not that Kurt planned on it, but the word 'secret' had only ever been brought up by him.  Puck never told him to lie low or not speak to him in the halls, and all questions about it were met with essentially a shrug.  He knew better than to think Puck didn't care about his reputation - the guy had relentlessly pursued Mercedes to try to rehabilitate his image - but he also knew that, had it been any other guy in the school, the first words out of his mouth afterwards would've been "Don't tell anyone or I'll kick your ass and deny the whole thing."  Finn included - Finn especially, on further thought.    
  
Shaking the thought from his mind, he trudged through the dewy grass to his car and drove towards his house in the faint pink light of daybreak.  

**Author's Note:**

> If you've figured out what the duet is, which isn't all that hard to guess, please don't ruin it for everyone else.


End file.
